


By the Shore

by adaille



Category: Supernatural
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Castiel, Breeding Kink, Consensual Heat Sex, Fisting, Fluff, John Winchester’s A+ parenting, M/M, Minor Angst, Naga Castiel, Omega Dean, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Profound Bond Snail Porn Apocalypse, Smut, Tail Kink, Tail penetration, True Mates, Wing Kink, almost snail Castiel, apologies Jules, butterfly sprite Dean, diphallia, half serpent Castiel, literal magical healing dick, mpreg possible though it doesn’t occur, triple penetration with one partner, yes Cas has two peens
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-07
Updated: 2019-05-07
Packaged: 2020-02-27 15:18:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18741676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adaille/pseuds/adaille
Summary: When John finally abandons his boys, Dean takes his younger brother to see the ocean. The two sprites fall in love with the shore, but more than that, Dean falls in love with his newest friend, a snail who turns out to be not quite a snail after all.*  *  *It’s the most beautiful snail Dean’s ever seen, even though he can’t quite figure out what it’s doing. It never comes all the way out of the sea, but he’s seen its shell moving through the water, making strange patterns as if it’s dancing in the waves. As if it’s playing.Sometimes, he’ll dance and play, too, in the air, pretending there’s music that only the two of them can hear. And in a way, there is, the music of the wind and waves and Dean’s heart, and the snail’s maybe, if it has such a thing.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Alessariel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alessariel/gifts).



> Somehow, a conversation about the logistics of snail sex on the Profound Bond discord turned into this bit of fluff, which spread into angst, then smut. And sometimes, you know, diphallic sort-of-snail porn just demands to be written. 
> 
> It's 2 am and I make no apologies beyond the fact this almost kept going for several more chapters and didn't. I adore you all, but especially suckerfordeansfreckles, without whose lovely feedback this story would have likely never been finished, haikuhamster, who somehow always inspires Dean to be written the way he is here, and Alessariel, I hope you enjoy this.

**Dean**

It’s boring by the sea; there’s nothing to do there. It’s just miles and miles of sand, and water too dangerous to be near, full of creatures that’ll happily eat any fae foolish enough to go near.

At least, that’s what John always tells Dean whenever he wonders about Bobby’s stories. John also says night creatures like Bobby can’t be trusted, but sometimes…

Sometimes, Dean likes Bobby better than John, leathery wings and all. Sometimes, Dean wishes Bobby was his dad instead of John.

On those nights, he pictures the adventures they’d go on if he and Sammy were with Bobby, traveling around, up to the mountains, down by the sea.

On those nights, he doesn’t mind having pretty green butterfly wings that remind John too much of the wife he’d lost.

On those nights, he’s happy.

* * *

_Dean, where’s Dad?_

_Dean? When’s Dad coming home?_

_Is Dad gonna be here for my birthday, Dean? Dean?_

* * *

By the time John disappears for good, Sammy had already stopped asking when he’s coming back. It isn’t like they need John anyway. Dean’s always been a good omega, like his mom told him to be, too long ago. He’s always taken care of Sammy.

When John doesn’t come back, Dean waits. He waits for two months, sleeping tucked next to Sammy for warmth each night, inside the shitty stump where John left them _‘just for a bit’_.

He waits two months, then he takes Sammy to the sea, and secretly hopes John will never find them there.

* * *

The ocean is nothing like John said—but few things were, when it came down to it. The salt spray stings Dean’s nose, but it’s a fresh, cleansing burn. 

The waves roar the way the trees in the mountains used to in a high wind, the kind of wind that’s bad for flying. The sea breeze is perfect for it though, a steady draft that tickles his wings, that makes him want to dip and dive and forget everything for a while.

He doesn’t really care for the sand, though Sammy’s fond of it. It hurts his feet when it’s hot, but he never lingers where it’s wet in case a wave catches his wings. The gossamer green isn’t as fragile as an actual butterfly’s, but John told him so many horror stories of the water that claimed their mother, he’s afraid to go too near even in his dad’s absence.

Some parts of John never really fade. Not yet; maybe not ever.

* * *

“Dean, where are you going?”

Dean’s wings flutter fast as he races down the beach, his feet skimming inches above the scorching sand. “It’s too freakin’ hot, Sammy!” he shouts over his shoulder, but Sammy’s response is lost to the wind.

He doesn’t mind; if Sam needs him, he knows where to find him. These past few weeks, it’s become his special place; it’ss cool and perfect under the pier the humans built and later abandoned. There’s a little patch of rocks where he can sit and watch the foam and the water and the tiny crabs, basking in the rich smells of damp and decaying wood.

Those are all perfectly good excuses, but they aren’t quite the truth. Dean hasn’t told Sam the real reason he keeps coming back. His real reason is the snail. His snail.

It’s the most beautiful snail Dean’s ever seen, even though he can’t quite figure out what it’s doing. It never comes all the way out of the sea, but he’s seen its shell moving through the water, making strange patterns as if it’s dancing in the waves. As if it’s playing.

Sometimes, he’ll dance and play, too, in the air, pretending there’s music that only the two of them can hear. And in a way, there is, the music of the wind and waves and Dean’s heart, and the snail’s maybe, if it has such a thing.

Minutes after he settles on a particularly small rock that lets his feet dangle off into a puddle of seawater, the snail’s shell bobs above the waves, greeting him.

It’s different today. Shinier, with flecks of silver and gold that would sparkle in the sun, if Dean could bear the heat. It’s Dean’s snail, though, it has to be, because it immediately dips into the pattern he’s come to recognize.

Feeling a strange euphoria, he leaps to his feet, then pushes off into the air, eager to join his strange comrade in their now-daily dance. In his excitement, just this once he forgets to check above him, and he registers the beat of wings much larger than his own a moment before something slams into him and he’s thrown sideways into pain and dark and pain pain pain, the cold bite of water reviving him briefly before the waves roll him under, salt biting into his throat and scorching his nose. And then, there’s nothing at all.

* * *

Dean wakes to blue. Blue eyes with a hint of grey, like a storm building over the sea he’s come to love. Combined with messy dark hair and salt-pink cheeks, they belong to the most beautiful face he’s ever seen. He opens his mouth to say something clever, and squeaks hoarsely instead.

The stranger’s mouth splits open and emits an ear-splintering shriek, full of high static and splintered glass, of cliffs giving into the sea, tree branches failing in high wind. Dean quakes in the face of it, and the stranger pauses, then clears his throat.

The salt chapped lips try again, murmuring “Are you alright?” in a voice that sounds like the elements tamed into something hoarse and too small to hold them.

Dean swallows hard. The stranger is very close, leaning over him a bit, both of his hands bracketed on either side of Dean, while his other, scalier hand strokes Dean’s leg in an absent, comforting sort of way.

His...his...other hand?

His eyes dart down, barely registering the tanned, muscular chest, the thin line of hair trailing towards...holy shit. Bobby told him about Naga, but they sounded so fantastical, half human, half sea serpent; he never thought he’d meet one. Plus, Bobby said they were notorious for keeping to themselves; they didn’t even trade with the bat sprites, and everyone trades with the bat sprites, even if gossip’s all they had to share.

Hip bones jut above deep, rippling blue scales that loop and coil into the fine tip that’s now wrapping loosely around Dean’s knee. The stranger is gorgeous—a gorgeous and _completely naked_ alpha, with a prominent alpha bulge in his scales, and Dean feels himself slicking a bit in response.

Blue eyes flick down as the stranger’s nostrils flare, and Dean realizes too late that he lost the cloth covering his intimate areas when he fell into the water. 

His ears heat, and he hopes the slick isn’t visible on his legs. “Um. So, hi.”

“Hello…?” The stranger tilts his head. “You fell rather hard. Did the bird hurt your wings?”

Dean flutters them a bit; they ache, but seem fine. “I’m sturdier than I look,” he insists, his tone too defensive, though the stranger hadn’t said anything about him being a _weak omega_ , or his wings being _too pretty to be anything but useless_ , or anything of the other things that always come out in John’s voice in his head.

The stranger lifts a hand as if to touch one of Dean’s wings, a look of fascination on his face, and Dean draws back a bit, worrying how his body will respond to those hands on him, stroking the sensitive underside of his wings. “I’m Dean.”

“Dean.” The stranger moves his name around his mouth, almost as if he’s tasting something he’s just realized he’s very fond of. Dean can’t help but slick a tiny bit again. “Hello, Dean. I’m Castiel.”

 _Castiel._ Castiel. And… “And, um, you are...?” He trails off midway through asking if Castiel’s from ‘ _around here_ ’, realizing how stupid it’d be to ask someone who’s half sea serpent if he’s from the ocean.

Eyes twinkle down at him where he leans back against the sand, and Dean infinitely prefers it to the look of concern they carried before he confirmed he’s okay. “I’m the one who gripped you tight and pulled you from the sea.”

Oh. “Thank you?”

“You are most welcome, Dean. I apologize for the part I played in your accident. It was never my intention to draw you into danger.”

Draw him into danger? Dean hadn’t even seen him until...well, until after he’d been rescued. “No, no, don’t be. I mean, it was my own fault. I was just so eager to...well, you know?”

Castiel’s head tilts again.

“To dance?” Dean adds, narrowly leaving off the ' _with my snail friend'._ Because if Castiel’s going to be like all the other asshole alphas he knows—like John—and accuse him of being flighty and useless and stupid...he’d rather not know just yet.

Castiel’s expression softens into eye-crinkles and a gummy smile that pierces and warms Dean in a way sunshine’s never managed even on the most cloudless of days. “I do so enjoy our dances, too.”

 _Our dances?_ Dean glances past Castiel, towards the water, where the shiny gold and silver shell lies tipped onto its side. The snail...his snail...isn’t a snail at all. He squeaks again, and Castiel’s smile deepens, his tail sliding higher to rest above Dean’s knee, the tip pressing into his inner thigh.

* * * * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Castiel**

Castiel's little winged omega is as shy as he is beautiful; it’s all Castiel can do not to tease the end of his tail through that sweet slick that’s been steadily leaking since Dean awoke from his accident. He doesn’t want to overwhelm his hopefully-soon-to-be-mate, but the omega's physical response to him is delicious.

Almost as delicious as the way the little sprite's wings moved through the air whenever he mirrored the movements of Castiel's courtship dances. It’s unconventional for Nagas to both dance together, but Castiel has enjoyed the strange sprite custom. He hopes to learn more of those customs as their relationship grows; he hopes all of them are equally delightful.

He hasn't told his father of his courtship yet, but he’s long overdue to choose a mate anyway. None of the other Naga have appealed to him, not the way Dean does with his ephemeral wings and his sea-glass eyes and the silly little cloth protecting his modesty and those _spots_. He isn't sure whether he can actually breed his little sprite, but he looks forward to trying.

The little omega bites his lip, his wings fluttering harder, and Castiel realizes he’s making his mate-to-be nervous with his tail and the way he’s still leaning over him, trapping him against the sand.

It takes more willpower than he wants to admit to draw back and put more air between them.

"You dance beautifully," he adds, remembering their earlier conversation.

"Why do you live in a shell?" Dean blurts, then turns bright red.

Now it’s Castiel's turn to flush. "Why are you covered in spots?" he deflects, lifting a hand to brush over Dean's cheeks.

"Dude." 

His little omega's face pinches as he pulls back, and Castiel has to loop a coil over the end of his own tail to keep it from trying to comfort Dean, to soothe the sting of his own careless words.

"I...I mean, I like them. I like them very much. I just...I have never seen spots like yours before."

"You've never seen freckles."

The flatness of Dean's voice implies it’s not a question, but Castiel answers him anyway. "Not like yours. Is it...because of your wings?"

Dean's wings also have the prettiest spots, but they’re different. Larger.

"It's because of the sun."

"Then you should never be in the shade."

Dean's wings shiver, and Castiel catches the scent of slick again as a fresh trickle leaks down Dean's thighs. This is going so well.

"You're in the shade," Dean mumbles, but his words make no sense.

"I come to the shade because this is where you always are. The sun is too hot for you?"

More slick leaks from Dean, and he wants to dive into it, dip his face between Dean's thighs and make him scream in pleasure as he laps it from his skin, then directly from his tender, eager hole. He can feel himself thickening in response, pressing upward against the underside of his scales, and instinctively twitches towards his shell, wishing to hide his arousal.

Unfortunately, Dean notices the movement. "You never answered me about the shell. Is it...is it a Naga thing?"

Castiel starts to lie, starts to say yes, but he doesn’t want to start off by being untruthful with Dean. "It...makes me feel pretty."

Dean looks startled for a second, then understanding flickers into his eyes, not disgust or confusion. "Oh."

Dean's approval means so much to him on this; Castiel craves it the way he never has his family's. He'd selected these particular shells to attract Dean's attention, after all. "Do you like it?"

"Yeah...yeah, I like it. It's...it _is_ very pretty."

The tip of his tail twitches, and he can’t hold in the rumble of pleasure that escapes from his chest. Yes, this is going very well indeed.

* * *

He sticks carefully to the courtship rituals, though the pace is painfully slow. It’s important to do this right; Dean is important. He’s never felt such a strong attraction to a potential mate before; it’s overwhelming, the draw he feels towards the sprite.

Castiel dances again for Dean, dances _with_ Dean. They sit and talk for hours, drawing pictures and maps in the sand while slick trickles from Dean and Castiel pretends not to notice. It confuses and pains him whenever Dean talks about going to the mountains or the rivers to _'see the sights'_ , but Castiel supposes it’d be unfair for him to expect Dean to spend all his time at home, rearing young, even once they’re mated.

It's not like Castiel’s one of the traditional alpha Nagas who expect omegas to spend life on their backs or their knees. Although the mere thought of Dean in such a position does have him closing his fists tightly around his own knots more often than he likes to admit. Dean would be beautiful receiving the pleasure Castiel wants to give him, in due time.

In due time.

* * *

Castiel is busy working on a nest for Dean, made of rocks and driftwood and the most beautiful shells and sea-glass he could find, when he sees his precious little omega flying toward him over the top of the rocks.

A scowl pulls the corner of his mouth down. Is Dean injured? He catches flashes of Dean's wings above the rock obscuring his line of sight, but then Dean bobs down oddly and disappears for long seconds at a time.

He moves away from the nest, taking care to hide it with seaweed before grabbing his shell and heading for the edge of the water, where he can see around the rocks. It will burn and hurt his scales, but if Dean is wounded, he will go to him.

Dean is indeed flying toward him, but he’s weighed down by...by the most fabulous shell Castiel has ever seen. It’s deep blue and silver and it gleams in the sun as wonderfully as Dean's sun-kissed, freckled body.

Could...could Dean be bringing him a courting gift in return?

The idea sends thrills through him. It’s unexpected, like the dancing together, but it fills him with delight. He doesn’t know of any other alpha whose omega has brought them gifts. Suddenly, his own presents seem inadequate; the fish, the tiny shrimp Dean refused to eat and instead gave a name, the sea-glass he wears around his neck now, marking him as Castiel's intended.

Dean is truly wonderful, and Castiel will have to find him something equally as wonderful to give him if...when...Dean accepts his nest, and Castiel takes him as mate for the first time.

* * * * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Dean**

The shell’s a lot heavier than he thought it'd be, and Dean can’t help but feel impressed Castiel manages to carry these things around all day just because they look nice. It'll be worth it, he reminds himself...if he can get it all the way to Castiel without scuffing it first.

He glances up to see how far he has left to go, and catches Castiel's eye where he stands, naked as always, blue scales glinting against the water, watching Dean struggle with the shell.

Dean almost drops it, almost lets it sink to the sand below to join his stomach. Cas has been _watching_ him as he flaps and flails and generally looks ridiculous, struggling with the weight of something Cas carries around all the time with his alpha strength for _fun_.

When he lands, gasping and panting in front of the alpha, Castiel doesn't tease him for it like he expects. Instead, Castiel almost sounds awed. "Is...is that for me?"

Do Naga not give gifts? That can’t be right, because Castiel brings Dean stuff all the time. Dean's wearing some of it right now. Is Cas used to giving things and not getting anything back? How selfish is his family, then?

Dean resolves to bring his new best friend lots of things as often as he can, for as long as he can convince Sammy to stay here. And he’ll bring more things for Castiel whenever he comes back to visit once they leave, because of course he’ll visit. Because...because of the sea, and because they’re friends.

Not because the idea of never seeing Castiel again makes him want to crawl on top of the pier and let a bird eat him. He isn't that kind of omega.

_But you are, aren't you,_ the John-voice mocks him. _You just want a big strong alpha to manhandle you and claim you._

Not that one ever will. Not with him broken the way he is. _Heatless_ , the voice hisses.

Castiel is looking at him, his voice quivering as it breaks into Dean’s thoughts. "Or, um, did you just want me to look at it? It's a very nice shell, and—"

Fuck, he'd spaced out and left Cas hanging. "No, of course it's for you, Cas, I just had to catch my breath."

Castiel's tail whips back and forth in a way that Dean has learned to interpret as _'pleased'_. "Cas?" the alpha asks.

"Yeah, I mean...um, is that okay? To give you a nickname?"

"You may give me anything you want, whenever you like, Dean." Cas is beaming at him as he picks up the shell, tilting it back and forth, admiring it. "Always."

"Yeah. Yeah, same."

Dean feels a bit in-over-his-head at the intensity of the look Cas gives him at that, feeling adrift, as if he might be missing something, and not for the first time. But then, Cas is just an intense sort of guy, and Dean likes him that way.

Dean likes him a little too much, that way. Slick trails down his thighs _a-fucking-gain_ , and thank everything and everyone for Cas apparently having the world's shittiest sense of smell, because this is getting to the point it’s embarrassing.

It’s just Dean's dry spell. It has to be. That, and the fact that he's never managed to try an alpha on for size when he'd been under John's watchful eye, making due with his fingers and toys and an occasional beta. Betas who never had anything close to that thick...tail Cas has. Yes.

His tail is so...muscular. And okay, fine. The bulge beneath the scales just below his navel is impressive too, but Dean doesn’t know what that translates into sizewise, once he’s unsheathed. Not that size should matter, and not that Dean is going to see him unsheathed.

Friends. Friends. Cas isn't interested in him that way. He's barely touched Dean since that first day, and that'd only been with his tail, making sure he was alright.

Just thinking about Castiel's tail creeping higher and higher on his thigh has another fresh burst leaking from him, and this time it’s a _stream_.

This time, Castiel's nostrils flare and Cas leans in before he catches himself. _The fucker_.

He _can_ smell Dean. He could probably smell it on him this whole time. He knows Dean wants him and he...what? Decided to befriend him and bring him bits of glass and ignore how badly Dean wants him out of what? Some kind of pity?

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck _fuck._

Shame heats his ears and sours his stomach, and Dean shoves off from the ground and flies as fast as his wings will carry him, back down the beach towards where Sammy likes to lounge in the dune grass.

* * * 

Dean resolves to stay away from Cas until he can get his body back under his control. Until he won’t embarrass himself again. 

He doesn’t understand his reaction to the alpha— _his alpha_ , his brain helpfully supplies before he shoves down the traitorous thought. Dean's never had this happen around an alpha before, this uncontrollable _slicking_ , and it’s not like he has anyone he can ask.

John and Sam and Bobby are all alphas, and he definitely isn’t going to ask them something like that even if they weren't. His mom passed when he was four, and John never took him around any other omegas, claiming they'd be bad influences, even when Dean’s heat never presented the way it was supposed to and none of them knew why.

Dean growls at himself, tugging his hair as he flings himself into the home he set up for Sammy in hollow bit of driftwood.

"Are you alright?" Sam doesn’t look up from his book.

"I'm _fine_."

"Sure, you sound fine," Sam snarks back. "What happened?"

What happened? _What happened?_ Dean starts to explode into a list of everything that _happened_ , then stops. He can’t explain this to Sammy. He's never told his brother about Cas, about the alpha his body is screaming at him to fly back to _right fucking now_.

And if he does, Sam will expect him to talk about his feelings. He'll think Dean needs a mate to...to keep him from being unstable, moody. And that isn't true at all. He was more stable _before_ Cas, not...not that Cas is his mate, not that Cas is his anything, because Cas doesn’t want to be his anything, and…

He groans and flops down on the bed he'd crafted from dune grass, hiding his face in the crook of his elbow, useless and broken and rejected. "Nothing, Sam."

"You bored, finally? We could always go somewhere else."

He starts to sit up, starts to say that’s actually a good idea—it'll give him space, force him to clear his head—when a wave of nausea doubles him over. The cramp intensifies, and it feels like his stomach is trying to invert itself. He can’t help it, he whimpers.

"Dean?"

"I...I don't feel so good. I must've eaten some bad fish."

Sam looks at him doubtfully, but lets it go.

* * *

Unlike Sam, Dean's body does not let whatever it is go, much to his misfortune. It isn’t bad fish; it isn’t anything he can purge. He feels hot all over, then cold, shivering from one extreme to the other, his body aching and his stomach roiling.

It doesn’t make any sense; he wasn't around anyone or anything to catch something, unless...unless it’s some strange Naga illness. Could a sprite catch a cold from a Naga? Cas hadn't seemed sick, but maybe it was some sort of thing that didn't affect Naga the same way, because their bodies were used to it and Dean’s wasn’t?

If so, it’s further proof that Dean doesn’t belong here, that his dad had been right and the sea was no place for a sprite. It’s further proof that as soon as Dean can fly again, they need to go back to the hilly areas they used to wander around with John. Away from the tiny patch of sand and sky that he's started to think of as _home_ in spite of himself.

* * *

Dean hasn't left his bed in two days—he can't eat, can barely drink water—when Sam pokes his head into their log.

"Um, Dean? You awake?"

Dean grunts, rolling towards the wall.

"You...have a visitor? He says he...um, I guess he knows you?"

Dean sits up at that, but the world slips sideways and spins away from him in sparks of light before righting itself. He feels a bit better, the nausea settling for the first time in days, but he still throbs all over.

_'He knows you'_...it couldn't be Bobby then. Sam would've just said it was Bobby...or John, if it was John. Who else does Dean know that would come here?

_Cas_ , his brain whispers. _Alpha._ But Cas is down by the water, in the water, he’s a sea-Naga, a serpent, there’s no way he could make the exposed journey across the dunes on foot...on tail. There’s no way he could…

But there was. He _had_.

When Sam withdraws, his spot by the door is taken up by messy dark hair and blue blue blue, blue eyes and blue scales covered in...oh _no_.

Cas is covered in sand, his scales in disarray, the fat grains pressing them outward where they’ve forced themselves in between. His skin looks angry and inflamed, covered in dry salt and more sand, his lips chapped, and those circle under his eyes...when was the last time he's slept?

Dean starts to stand, but a flood of slick erupts from him, soaking through his clothes and soiling his bed, and he drops back down, covering his face in red hot shame.

He feels Cas move closer, and he smells amazing, like sun and sky and the sea and everything good and perfect in the world, and he’s right there, close enough to touch now. The pain ebbs from Dean's body, replaced by that sparkling warmth that he'd almost forgotten. The area around his hole feels swollen, tender and itchy and too hot, and more slick leaks from him as all the ache returns tenfold, centered now between his asscheeks.

He's never been so embarrassed in his life.

"Will you look at me, Dean?" Castiel's voice is gentle, so gentle, as if Dean’s fragile. As if he’s precious, and not a disgusting excuse for a friend whose body won’t behave properly.

He shakes his head, still covering his face with his hands.

"Dean...my precious little omega...won't you tell me what's wrong?"

Dean's brain screeches and slips. _He called me his omega, he called me...why did he call me his omega_ tumbles and roils beside the thrill of _yes, yes, I'm your omega, please, please alpha, please…_

He whimpers, confused, and Cas touches his chin with the tip of his very long tail, tilting it up until Dean’s encouraged to look at him.

He looks at him, and is lost.

* * * * *


	4. Chapter 4

**Castiel**

Castiel’s never felt such distress in all his long years. Things had been going so perfectly, so wondrously, his little omega had given him a shell, a nickname, a pet name, then he’d flushed, and his body had readied itself for their joining, and then…

And then…

And then, Castiel has no idea what went wrong. He’d been moving in to try for a kiss, just the chastest brush of lips, unable to resist how good Dean smelled any longer, not when he was so wet and willing, when Dean _rejected_ him.

He lets the currents tossle him onto his side, barely caring to steady himself as he wracks his brain, trying to figure out what he’d done wrong. He’d courted Dean so slowly, and Dean seemed so receptive...had he gone too slowly? Had Dean had others courting him more effectively?

Dean must have other courtiers, he’s so beautiful, outside and in, his wings and his spots—his _‘freckles’_ —and his spirit...perhaps he has others of his own kind who want him as much as Castiel. Or, perhaps…

“Perhaps I went so slowly he didn’t know I was courting him at all,” Castiel mutters.

“What’s that, baby bro?”

Castiel’s tail whips crossly, and he rights himself. Of course Gabriel would bother him, now that he’s miserable and wants to be alone.

“Why, yes, Gabriel, thank you for showing concern, I would love to tell you what’s troubling me,” his brother continues, in a voice so falsely deep Castiel knows it’s intended to tease him. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with your pretty little boy toy, would it?”

Castiel hadn’t realized anyone noticed where he’d been going every day, but… “He’s not mine.”

“Ah! And what makes you say that?”

The current shifts slightly, and Castiel goes with it, rolling back onto his side again, hugging his tail and not caring how melodramatic it looks. “He flew away when I tried to kiss him, and I waited for hours—” The rest of that day and the following night and most of the next morning, actually, but Gabriel doesn’t need that kind of detail, he’s sure. “He didn’t come back.”

Gabriel hums. “That explains why the entire current you’re wallowing in reeks of mate severing fever.”

“I didn’t...I didn’t _mate_ him. We never...”

“Doesn’t matter, not if you scent-bonded, kiddo.”

“I barely even touched him…”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Castiel huffs. “Yes, it does.”

“Not if you’re true mates.”

Castiel’s tail shivers, the tip twitching. Gabriel notices and laughs. “You like that idea, eh, baby bro?”

He grips his traitorous tail in his fists, forcing it still. “We aren’t even the same species.”

“Always knew you were the kinky one in the family, Casanova.”

Castiel ignores him, rolling the idea around in his brain, cataloguing the evidence. The immediate, irresistible draw, the need to be around Dean all the time, the way he smells like home—the home Castiel’s always wanted, not the one he has—how badly Castiel needs him, wants him, wants to protect him and hold him and breed him and build him a nest and keep him close and…

And fuck, he has mate severing fever. Which means…

“Dean must be in so much pain right now,” he whispers.

“Always hits omegas harder,” Gabriel agrees.

“I..I need to…” He’s already swimming to shore when Gabriel calls after him.

“Yeah, yeah, you go do your thing, I won’t wait up, sure.”

He has no idea where Dean is, but for once...for once, he’s going to listen to that tug inside him. He’s going to find Dean, and he’s going to fix whatever he’s done to drive Dean away.

* * *

By the end of the second day, Castiel can barely force his coils across the sand. He’s never been so far from the sea, past where the waves pack it tight and keep it cool and moist against his scales. It burns, and it hurts, and it’s horrid and hateful and senselessly cruel, and he finally understands why Dean didn’t like it and preferred the little spot under the pier. It’s bad enough he almost considers dropping the beautiful shell his intended gifted him. Almost.

There’s no longer any doubt in his mind. For the fever to hit this hard, over such a small trigger, when he’d barely touched the little sprite...Dean is his, and he is Dean’s. He aches over the pain and confusion his omega must be feeling; he can barely stand knowing that whatever misstep he made, it was bad enough for Dean to stay away from him, even when it must be hurting him so dearly.

If only he’d paid more attention to social niceties. If only...no. That was in the past. He would do better moving forward. That’s all he can do. He just...he has to find Dean.

* * *

He sees an alpha sprite moments before the breeze shifts and he smells _Dean_ and _distress_ and _need_. A male sprite with moth wings, disappearing behind a piece of wood, into the place that smells of _Castiel’s_ intended. He feels a burst of protective rage before a chasm opens in his chest in its place. Of course Dean would prefer an alpha like himself. An alpha that can dance with him above the waves, not in them. An alpha that can take him to the mountains he spoke so longingly of.

He should go. He should go, but he’s almost too weak. He’ll never make it back to the sea, but he can’t bring himself to care beyond the need to be away from where Dean will find him. What does any of it matter, when he’s come so far only to find he’s been cast aside for someone else?

Before he can gather his pathetic thoughts into a plan, the alpha sprite emerges again and spots him immediately. His wings flare in surprise, but before he can speak, Castiel feels it all boiling out of himself.

“What are you to Dean?” he asks, wishing his voice didn’t sound so tired and full of sand.

“I...uh. He’s...who are you?”

“Please, tell me.”

“I’m his brother?”

Oh. _Oh_ , of course. “Sammy.”

“Uh. Yeah, Sam. You...you know Dean?”

“I…” Castiel would very much like to know him, to see him, but that seems presumptuous to say. Better to ask to talk, so he can beg forgiveness. “Would you ask if I may be allowed to speak with him?”

Sammy... _Sam_...looks over his shoulder inside the log that smells like Dean, hesitating, but gives in without making any further demands. “Wait here a sec.”

When Sam waves him in less than a minute later, disappearing to leave them alone...oh, Dean is so ill. His soft hair is plastered to his scalp with sweat, his cheeks flushed with the fever, shivering, clearly too weak to be bred but his body trying to be good for Castiel by slicking for him regardless…

"Dean...my precious little omega...won't you tell me what's wrong?"

Castiel hadn’t meant to touch Dean; he didn’t want to overwhelm his shy little omega, especially not now. But with Dean so close after Castiel’s worry that he’d scared him away for good—and he didn’t even understand how...when Dean is so wet for him, so messy in his desire, lying in a _bed_ , a soft place Castiel could mate him, but sick to his bones with severing fever…Castiel’s tail won’t be denied.

The soft, needy, upset noises Dean’s making as his tail lifts Dean’s chin speeds his own heart rate. He’ll do anything for Dean, he just needs Dean to tell him what he desires. Surely what they have can’t be broken beyond Castiel’s ability to fix.

“What is distressing you, dearest? Is it the severing fever?” Castiel asks, hoping. “I’m here now, sweetheart.”

“Your scales…” Dean reaches out a hand, and cool sweet relief floods Castiel’s body as his hormones begin to right themselves, leaving him struggling to ignore the agony of the sand embedded in his skin now that Dean has drawn his attention to it. “...severing fever?”

Dean blinks up at him, confusion on his face. Surely… 

“Yes, mate severing fever.”

“Mate?” his pretty omega squeaks, and another rush of slick has Castiel aching to push his tail between Dean’s legs, to let him sit on Castiel while that sweetness coats him from the source.

He inches closer, trembling from the effort it takes to resist. “I...I would like to think so.”

Dean turns his face away, and his scent sours. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“I...yes, I would?”

“I’m broken, Cas.”

His tail snaps out, wrapping around Dean before Castiel can stop it. The omega squeaks but doesn’t push him away, instead squeezing the tip of Castiel’s tail where his mating venom is trying to swell it. It’s sweet torture; he fights the coil of _need need want tak_ e building inside him, wishing to reassure Dean first, to make sure they’ll be okay. “You’re perfect.”

“No, ‘m not. You...you don’t know what you’re saying, Cas!” Tears are brimming in Dean’s eyes, his distress cutting through the feverish want aching in Castiel despite how hard Dean is squeezing the gland at the tip of his tail now. Squeezing the part of him that’s been waiting for his mate, for _Dean_ , all these years.

“I do know, you’re perfect, every part of you. Your spirit, your laugh, your wings, the way you dance, and your spots, I love your spots, and you—”

“I’m heatless, Cas!” His omega’s hands ball into tight little fists, so much anger and hurt and past pain buried in his voice, and Castiel...Castiel is confused.

His head tilts when Dean doesn’t continue, clearly waiting for some sort of response from Castiel. “Al...alright?”

“What do you mean, alright? I just told you...I...I’m _heatless_.”

“I had assumed so.”

Dean is staring at him, and his scent’s changed again, but Castiel has no idea what the new expression and the new scent mean. Briefly, he misses Gabriel in spite of himself. Gabriel would know.

“I...what?”

Castiel tries. “I’d assumed you weren’t mated yet, Dean. I mean, not that you aren’t very desirable, so there was always the possibility of you being in mourning for a lost, previous mate, but you’re so young, and I...should I have assumed you’ve had a mate?” His tail is twitching against Dean’s back, telegraphing how flustered he feels.

“No, I...you’re my first.” Dean stiffens, and turns a wonderful shade of red all over his face and ears and chest, his spots even more delightful in contrast, he should always be this pink, this perfect, and Castiel can’t help but inch closer at the implication. “I mean...um. Not that. I’ve had...shit. I…betas.” He finally blurts.

Castiel smiles. His omega is adorable. “It’s alright, Dean. I understood what you meant, and I’m delighted I’m the first to have courted you, though I don’t understand how I was the first to succumb to your charms.”

Dean squirms, gripping Castiel’s tail again—Castiel barely stifles a moan—and muttering things that sound like _‘we moved around a lot’_ and _‘broken’_ and _‘dad’_. Castiel gives in, squeezing him tighter with a coil, pushing a wider loop against Dean’s thigh until Dean lifts his leg and straddles that part of his tail, knees spreading to accommodate Castiel’s girth, the thin drenched fabric all that’s between them. Dean squeezes his gland between his fingers so hard Castiel gasps, a tiny drip of fluid pooling where his scales come to the finest of tips.

“Oh.” Dean’s staring at the drop of venom, his tongue peeking out between his lips as if he’s...oh, oh, as if he’s thinking about tasting it, and Castiel feels his body trying to unsheath, but it’s too soon, much too soon, and oh no, Castiel can’t, he mustn’t, he _won’t_ —

“Dean,” he groans. “Could you...not that it doesn’t feel wondrous, but I can’t...I can’t think with you milking my mating gland.”

“What?” Dean squeezes harder, the droplet swelling as more liquid joins it at the tip, then he squeaks, seeming to realize what exactly he’s doing, a fresh rush of slick flooding over Castiel’s scales. He feels the scales over his sheath trying to lift, a whisper of cool air filtering in over his swelling lengths.

Dean’s blush spreads again as he releases Castiel’s mating gland, and Castiel smiles in a way he hopes is reassuring, but he’s too distracted to be sure.

“So...so you don’t mind that I don’t go into heat?” Dean blurts.

Castiel feels his smile freeze into place, and his scales snap back in place over his groin. This again? “I told you, I already suspected I’d be your first mate.”

“What’s...Cas, that’s...you know what a heat is, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Don’t be ridiculous.” His tail twitches, and he tamps down his irritation in favor of stroking the back of his tail across the nape of Dean’s neck.

“So...I’ve never had one.”

“Of course not. I haven’t given you any venom yet.” He smiles, hoping to reassure the omega by teasing him a little, if he’s receptive. He’s still straddling Castiel’s tail, and leaning into the scales supporting his back and neck, so Castiel feels hopeful. “Although, if you keep squeezing my gland the way you were...”

Dean doesn’t smile back. “Are you...are you saying...this venom...your...that stuff coming out of your tail...it causes heats?”

“Dean…” Dean is staring at him, completely serious, and he pauses. How innocent _is_ his little omega? “Of course it does, Dean.”

“Of course it...Cas, you say that like it’s obvious, but you’re seriously the only Naga I know. It’s not like...we don’t have tails, Cas.”

Oh. Oh, but… “So how does a sprite ripen their mate?”

“Ripen their...fuck.” Another rush of slick, and Dean is squirming through the sweet-smelling mess between them, squeezing his knees where they’re sprawled on either side of Castiel’s scales, rubbing what can only be his erection against Castiel. “We just go into heat when we come of age. There’s no...our mate doesn’t trigger it. Are you saying...this stuff of yours, you guys can just go around and what? Kick off omega heats left and right whenever you want?”

“No. It’s only for our mates. And even then, it only works if an omega’s body is compatible with an alpha’s venom. As yours will be with mine.”

“So...you think we might be compatible, huh?” That shy, flirty smile is back, and Dean looks up at Castiel through his lashes.

“Highly compatible. We’re true mates, Dean, we must be.” He thought that’d been obvious from the intensity of the severing fever, but perhaps Dean hadn’t had a proper upbringing. Castiel’s heart aches for his lonely little mate, but he has Castiel now.

“True mates? But…I’m not a Naga, Cas, we can’t be.”

“We’re both fae.”

“But…”

“Be still and listen to your body for a moment, to your soul, and tell me it doesn’t feel right to think of us so.”

Dean falls quiet, and Castiel finally, finally reaches up with his hands, placing them gently on either side of Dean’s cheeks. Dean’s eyes fall closed, and Castiel whispers into the space between them.

“We’re true mates, Dean, and I am so sorry, but your body being so in tuned with mine now…” a thought lances through him, building in certainty. “...even before we met it must’ve been so. It must’ve altered the way you should’ve...the way your kind goes into heat. Dean...oh, darling, why are you crying?”

“I’m not broken, Cas. My body was...it was just waiting for you.”

His coils surge, winding around both of them, squeezing them together with broad loops, the part of his tail beneath Dean hitching him higher, tilting him into Castiel’s embrace.

* * * * *


	5. Chapter 5

**Dean**

The moment Cas touched him...Dean's never felt such relief. The softest sea breeze washing the agony from his veins, the chill of fresh spring water against blistering skin. But fast on its heels, the surge of arousal, almost blinding in its intensity, followed by the realization Cas is his mate, and Cas doesn’t think he’s broken, Cas might be able to complete him, to fix him…

His mouth surges against the alpha’s, _his_ alpha’s, the kiss as wet and messy and desperate as Dean himself. His wings flare, in balance or desire or an instinctive mating display, Dean isn’t sure, but Cas gasps a soft _‘oh’_ against his mouth regardless.

Castiel’s hand lifts, and this time Dean doesn’t pull away from the touch, sweet and hot against his wing.

“Cas…”

“My dearest Dean.”

“Cas, I want you.”

“I want you too, Dean. Now, and always.”

Fuck. “No, I mean, I _want_ you.”

Cas raises those eyes—so blue!—and stares into Dean, steady and slow until Dean can see awareness lance into desire. Castiel’s tail shivers beneath him, behind him.

“Not here.” Cas looks away, pink high on his cheeks, his lashes hiding him from Dean.

“Why not?” Dean feels adrift again, even as he tries not to sour over something that can’t be a rejection, it _can’t_. Not after all this...can it?

“Oh, Dean.” Cas grips him tighter. “I want you, so very much, but I want...I’d like to show you something first. Some _where_.”

Dean has no idea how Cas is maintaining any semblance of control right now while his own sanity is slipping, but Sammy’s _“Dean?_ ” from just outside the door shatters him back to reality.

He slides sideways off Cas—alpha! mate!—hitting the floor with a thump and a squeak, the cloth covering his groin so wet it’s nearly transparent with slick.

‘ _Dean!’_ erupts from the bed and the door, Sam and Cas both staring at him in concern, then Sam scrunches his nose. “Ew. Seriously?”

Cas immediately stretches up, ruffled and angry, sand scattering as his scales puff out. “How dare you. This is not ‘ew’. Dean is not ‘ew’. Dean is—”

“Cas—”

“No, no, this is most definitely ew—”

“How DARE—”

“Cas!” Dean grabs at Cas as he starts to move towards Sam, his tail thrashing.

“I am taking him to our nest.” Cas glares a challenge at Sam, but he’s letting Dean hold him back with no more than a palm, his muscles bunched in stiffly controlled ire. “Where we can be as ‘ew’ as we like in peace.”

“Our...nest?”

Cas looks at him, startled, flushing down his always-bare chest. “Um. Yes.”

“Is that…” Dean feels a different kind of ache rising in him, slow and sweet. “Is that the ‘somewhere’ you wanted to show me?”

The alpha hides behind his lashes again. “It is.”

“You guys are seriously so gross right now I’m going to gag. No, don’t get mad, I’m going, I’m going, seriously though, I’m going to need to scrub my brain for at least twelve weeks to—” Sam keeps muttering on his way through the door, but Dean tunes him out.

“So...our nest, huh?”

Cas smiles. “Our nest.”

* * *

The nest better be worth it, Dean thinks as they make their way slowly across the sand. Even once sunset settles in, tempering the heat, he can almost feel the sand on Castiel’s coils himself as Cas scoots along beneath Dean.

Dean’s nearly too exhausted from his recent fever to fly, but he insists on carrying the shell he gave Cas as much as he can, not wanting the weight to grind Cas even further into the dunes.

When they finally make it to the sea and Cas lunges into the waves, ruffling and shaking and cleaning himself with clear joy, it’s all he can do not to smile, lest Cas think he’s laughing at him.

* * *

Castiel is radiant in the sunset, saltwater shucking easily from his blue scales, his coils shining like the sea-glass still around Dean’s neck, like the shell Dean had given him. He never needed the shells to be stunning, but he slips his tail inside Dean’s shell anyway, wriggling it proudly as he makes his way up through a tide pool and across the packed sand.

Cas tugs at a clump of seaweed, and then... _oh_.

Oh, it’s perfect. It’s...it’s everything Dean had ever tried to make for Sammy, but no one had ever made for Dean, not since his mom. “Cas…”

“Do you like it?”

“Like it? Fuck, Cas, it’s perfect.”

Cas is beaming when Dean pushes off from the ground beneath him, wings propelling him forward, crashing him into the alpha and driving Cas backwards through the open doorway. He lands on top of the alpha in a tangle of limbs and tail in their nest, and this time, this time, he feels no shame at the slick seeping through his cloth.

Cas groans, then lifts him up with his tail, his hands at Dean’s waistband, his eyes begging permission. “May I?”

“Please, Cas, please…”

Castiel’s gaze flickers. “Does that mean—”

“Yes, Cas, yes!”

The alpha’s gaze clears, and he tugs Dean’s cloth free, leaving them both bare in the fading light. Dean aches, hard and heavy and slick between his cheeks.

“Dean, I want…”

“Anything, alpha.”

Cas groans and lifts him again, turns him, Cas laying back as his tail lowers Dean over Castiel’s face. The manhandling has Dean’s body responding, and Cas nuzzles into the heat of him, urgency and need coiling tight in Dean’s belly as Cas licks into a stripe from his balls up to his hole. 

The alpha makes greedy, obscene noises as he cleans Dean’s thighs, his crevice, then licks and suckles Dean’s slick straight from the source, pulling it from Dean in long drags as he sobs and quivers over the alpha, his thighs shaking.

His body gives out, but Castiel’s tail catches him as he sinks, coiling tight around him, careful of his fluttering wings.

“Cas...Cas...fuck, Cas!” He’s barely aware of his sobs when the tip of Castiel’s tail presses against his mouth, a droplet of what Cas had called his _mating venom_ smearing against Dean’s lower lip. It tingles, it burns, it smells of sea salt and peppercorns and storms and _Cas_ , and Dean’s never wanted to drink something down so badly in his life.

He can’t help it, he squeezes it as he had before, and this time Cas doesn’t stop him, he just groans between Dean’s legs and begins spearing his tongue deeper inside Dean’s hole, loosening his rim. Dean flicks his tongue out, tasting, testing, then swallows the swollen tip as far as he can, taking the tip of Castiel’s tail into his mouth and suckling.

Cas howls against him, then shoves one long finger in beside his tongue, then a second, the sudden stretch everything Dean wants and never knew he needed. Castiel’s fingers scissor as he licks between them, and Dean can’t suck him down hard enough, tugging at Castiel’s tail in long draughts, but there’s no release, no venom, there’s only Castiel, shaking and mewling beneath him, his coils almost too tight around Dean’s ribs.

“Cas, Cas…” Dean gasps, panting against Castiel’s swollen gland.

“Mmf?” The tongue currently licking inside Dean’s rim pauses, even as both fingers find the edges of his prostate.

“Cas!”

The fingers press harder, and Cas pulls his tongue back to replace it with a third finger, prodding harder at the sensitive spot inside Dean, insistent.

“Cas, Cas, please...please…” Castiel’s tongue is slow and sweet around the outside of Dean’s rim, but he’s burning, itching and aching and he needs, he needs, he needs Cas to, to… “Cas, please, please mate me. I need you.”

Cas groans and pushes the tip of his tail against Dean’s mouth again, and Dean opens for him to thrust inside, Castiel’s tail keeping time with what now feels like four fingers inside him. Castiel’s coils are pulsing in sync too, the urgent press of his alpha bulge against Dean suddenly giving way, the scales parting, making way for...for...shit. Shit, wait. Wait, wait, _wait_.

Dean pulls back, his brain fighting its way up from the haze of arousal, hands wrapping around Castiel’s mating gland even as he can’t help but rock down on the fingers prodding his sensitive walls.

“Dean?”

“Cas...Cas, why do you have _two penises?_ ” It shouldn’t be possible for his voice to be so shrill and hoarse at the same time, but Dean’s never reached this octave before, even when singing. He’d be embarrassed, but _two penises_. Cas has two penises. Penii? Penee? Peneeneens? “Cas?”

Cas lifts beneath him, shifting, keeping his fingers inside Dean as he lets Dean slide down his chest towards the now monstrously large peneeneens that are positively _erupting_ from the scales they’d somehow managed to stay hidden behind.

“Cas, what the fuck,” he whimpers, feeling them bump against the base of his own normal sized cock. Cock, singular, as opposed to cocks, plural.

“Dean...love…” Cas turns Dean’s face to his, his coils shifting to let his back press flush to Castiel’s chest, Dean’s wings flaring to allow it. “I…”

He trails off, looking bewildered, and Dean suddenly realizes. “Is this...normal...for you guys?”

“Yes?”

Ah. “So...what do you guys do. Two partners at once? Alternate when you get tired? One, then the other? Use one on Sundays, the other the rest of the week?”

“Dean.”

“Does one just hang out while the other—”

“Dean!”

“Alright, alright. Okay. Um. I just. Shit, Cas.”

“You don’t have to take them both at once unless you desire it.”

Shit. Unless he...fuck, but Dean does desire it, as evidenced by the eager twitch of his own cock where it’s nestled between Castiel’s. He does desire it, but… “There’s no way all that’s gonna fit.”

Cas huffs, his voice laced with clear amusement. “I think you’ll find ‘all that’ will.”

It won’t, Dean knows it won’t, but if it will...fuck, but he wants to try. Arousal overtakes his startled fear, and deep down, he knows Cas won’t hurt him. It’s safe to try, because if it hurts, Cas will stop. His _true mate_ will stop if Dean needs him to. “Okay. Okay, let’s...let’s do this.”

* * * * *


	6. Chapter 6

**Castiel**

Dean’s slick is wet on his cheeks, his chin, his fingers, his scales, and soon, achingly soon, it’ll be wet on both his cocks. On his knots.

He works a fifth finger inside his little omega’s channel, prepping him so he won’t tear, Dean’s hole opening greedily to accept everything Castiel puts inside him as a good omega’s hole should. And of course his omega is a good omega, he’s the best omega, and Castiel is on fire with wanting him so. His cocks throb, and he grips Dean tighter, holding him in place as he works his fingers faster and faster against the spots inside Dean that make him quiver and moan and slicken.

Dean’s wings flare when he points his fingers and slides his hand fully inside, his sweet omega moaning and whimpering garbled sounds that approximate his nickname for Castiel, and something that sounds like it might be ‘ _alpha’_ and ‘ _mate’_ and ‘ _mine’_ and… _’fuck me please alpha please’_. He balls his fist, sliding it deeper inside Dean even as he presses his mating gland to Dean’s lips, and Dean obediently opens, suckling the droplets from the tip of Castiel’s tail.

He can’t help but mouth over Dean’s shoulder, the side and nape of his neck, sucking and licking bruises, marking Dean even as he works his fist and tail inside him in steady rhythm, keeping Dean full at both ends. More full than his sweet little omega has probably ever been, though not as full as he’ll be by the end of the night.

Dean sucks hard on the tip of his tail, hollowing his cheeks, and it’s time, Castiel can’t hold back any longer. He releases the venom to trigger his beautiful mate’s heat for their first joining with a groan, feeling the itching burn as Dean’s suckling draws the thick fluid from his gland in long, aching pulls.

It’s wondrous, unlike anything he’s ever felt, euphoric, Dean still drinking hungrily from him even as a rush of slick pours from his channel, causing Castiel’s fist to sink deeper in the sudden wetness. Dean’s writhing, squirming, then he’s grabbing onto Castiel’s tail to work himself up and down, harder and faster on Castiel’s hand, sobbing even as he’s sucking Castiel dry.

It starts to hurt, and Castiel reluctantly pulls his nearly-dry gland from between his mate’s lips, freeing Dean’s pretty mouth to utter a stream of positively filthy pleas for Castiel to _‘fuck him already’_.

He flips Dean again, sliding his fist from inside Dean, leaving the omega empty and kissing him messily as the tip of his tail teases Dean’s loosened hole. Dean’s shoving back against it, and he pushes in, swallowing Dean’s pants against his mouth as the tip widens rapidly until it’s larger than Castiel’s fist was inside his rim. Dean’s whining and fucking himself on Castiel’s tail when he pushes the last bit of venom from his gland, Dean’s walls milking his tail as he finishes prepping his omega for his first mating. He can _feel_ Dean’s body temperature rising in response to having Castiel’s venom in both his holes, see the sweat beading on Dean’s forehead, smell him sweetening.

Dean’s making desperate lost sounds when he pushes away from Castiel’s mouth, struggling free from Castiel’s grip, his wings flaring as he sinks down and starts messily licking at Castiel’s cocks, taking first one then the other into his mouth, then rubbing his face between them as he attempts to wrap each of his fists around one on either side.

Castiel holds his hips and lets him rock down against his tail, working himself steadily looser around Castiel’s girth, taking Castiel deeper and deeper and wider and wider on his own while he licks and nuzzles and suckles Castiel’s cocks to his heart’s content.

He feels full to bursting, nearly blinded with his need, and tries to count the spots on Dean’s skin to calm himself down, but his love for those same spots only ratchets the fire higher.

“Dean,” he gasps, pulling the omega up, up off his cocks and up off his tail, turning him again, hiding his face against Dean’s speckled shoulder as he fights for control. He can feel his pulse in his cocks, in his tail, and he shoves the tip against Dean’s mouth without thinking, and when Dean opens for him, when Dean licks him and takes him inside and has to be _tasting himself on Castiel’s tail_...Castiel howls his need to the sea outside, not caring who might hear.

This omega, this omega is his. Dean is his, his very own.

He lines one of his cocks up at Dean’s entrance, aching to plunge inside but restraining himself, forcing himself to go slow, but Dean won’t have it, doesn’t have it, pushing down faster than Castiel is expecting until Castiel is sheathed fully inside, his second cock pressing upwards against Dean’s own. Dean _writhes_ , suckling hard on Castiel’s tail as he works his hips in a reckless, needy pattern, wings behaving as if they want him to take flight even as his hands rise over his shoulders to grip the back of Castiel’s head, holding him tight.

“Cas,” Dean gasps, pulling free. “Want...want... _please._ ”

He lifts all the way off, leaving Castiel feeling muddled and confused. Things were going so well, it was going so well, why is Dean, what is Dean doing, why is he...oh, he’s turning, he’s turning and oh, oh, he’s pushing both of Castiel’s cocks at his entrance and he’s sinking down.

Dean’s mouth falls open and his eyes roll back, his face pretty and flushed, pink all the way down his chest as he takes Castiel inside himself, working himself up and down one slow inch at a time, a little further, a little deeper each time.

Before long, Dean’s sobbing and screaming as he slams himself down, moaning and crying as if he can never get enough, as if each impact is lighting him up inside, and it’s perfect, it’s everything Castiel never knew it could be, his body and mind singing _Dean, Dean, Dean_ in rhythm with his mate riding him, with the sea-glass moving on Dean’s chest.

He doesn’t want to stifle Dean’s noises, but he can’t help it, he needs Dean’s mouth on him again, and he wraps his tail around to Dean’s front, and Dean, beautiful Dean, he understands and takes Castiel’s gland back into his mouth, sucking greedily, his hands gripping bruises into Castiel’s shoulders as he rides him.

He rides him, and mates with him, and Castiel is lost to tear-streaked cheeks and green eyes.

* * * * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Dean**

Dean is coming apart, he’s so impossibly full in every way; Cas is in his mouth, in his heart and soul, he’s moving so deeply in Dean’s hole he has to be almost to his womb, the tender walls of his breeding channel opening to his true mate for the first time.

The burn is impossible, but Dean finds he likes it, the edge of pain both banking and fueling his desire, helping him last even as it ratchets him higher. He’s going to come apart before he finishes, he just knows it, he’s going to shatter, he’s going to...shit, shit, what, fuck, what the fuck—

“Cas, what the fuck,” he tries to gasp around the tail in his mouth, but it’s garbled and it’s not like he wants Cas to stop, he just wants to know why Cas is getting even larger now, tugging against his rim on the way in and out with every thrust. His rim is so tender, so stretched thin and swollen, and fuck, oh fuck, oh shit...

“Oh…” Cas moans even as Dean’s legs start to burn, his thighs already shaking, and then coils his tail around him, supporting and lifting him then lowering him, lifting then lowering, over and over, the tip of his tail sliding from Dean’s mouth with the movement. “May I? Dean, please, may I?”

“May…” Dean coughs, his throat raw from the venom and Castiel’s tail and one particular emotion he’d never name in front of Sammy. “May you what?”

“May I knot you, dearest?”

Knot... _oh_. Oh, shit. “Cas?” he squeaks, and Cas freezes.

“Dean?”

“Cas?”

“Do you...do you want me to stop?” Castiel is already lifting him from his lap when Dean shakes himself, then pushes back down.

“No, no...just...startled me is all. Want it, want you, can take it, Cas, give it to me. Want all of it, all of you.”

“Dean.” Castiel says his name like a prayer, and maybe it is. He lifts Dean up with his tail again, hands caressing Dean’s face as he undulates beneath Dean, his coils thrusting both cocks and both swelling knots in and out of Dean’s channel, pistoning inside him greedily while Dean is reduced to screaming his name.

And this is it, this is how Dean is going to die, suckling again on the tip of his new mate’s tail, taking him into his throat even as Castiel’s knots lock inside his channel, and he screams, his wail muffled as the pressure on his prostate intensifies, driving him over the edge, his vision whiting as he spills everything he has onto Cas. Cas isn’t far behind, the flood of heat swelling inside Dean, and it hits Dean suddenly that his mom left when she died, and he always knew John would leave while he was alive, he’d feared Sammy leaving him too, one way or another, but Cas, now that he’s found Cas he’ll never be alone again.

He’ll never be alone again.

“Dean, Dean, why are you crying?” Cas slips his tail from Dean one last time, his knots still locking them together, Dean’s channel still milking him, but his eyes are concerned, his brow crinkled as he tries to look into Dean’s eyes. “Did I hurt you? Am I hurting you? Or are you sad?”

“‘m not sad, you goof. I’m crying ‘cause I’m happy.”

“Oh,” Cas breathes, then nuzzles into his shoulder, his cheek, kissing him too chastely along his jaw and against his lips for what they’ve just done to each other. Are still doing to each other, as the ache and fullness and wet heat inside him attests.

Dean loses track of time while they wait for Castiel’s knots to go down, loses track of time as Cas presses kiss after kiss anywhere and everywhere he can reach, as his hands pet Dean’s wings, stroke his ribs, rub the soreness from his thighs, and in one memorable moment, explore the stretched skin where his rim is accomodating Castiel’s girth.

He murmurs sweet praises into Dean’s skin as he finally slides free with a rush of come and slick, leaving Dean sore and achy and full of emptiness where he’d been so full of Cas. Dean feels pathetic, but before the feeling can settle cold into his extremities, Cas slips his tail inside Dean’s loosened hole, easing the loss.

His alpha knows what he needs, and he’s safe. Sated and safe inside their nest, with the person he already thinks of as home.

* * * * *


End file.
